


A Small Break For Grantaire

by Bobcatmoran



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Medical stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:56:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobcatmoran/pseuds/Bobcatmoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire decides that the hike down the back hallway of the Musain is too far, and he's content sitting right here. Yup. Better conversation, better wine, and no, he has no ulterior motive for not wanting to get up, why do you ask?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Break For Grantaire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [C-chan (1001paperboxes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/gifts).



Although members of Les Amis de l’ABC could be found drifting in and out of the back room of the Musain on most nights, Tuesday night was reliably a time when the largest group of members could be found, particularly the lieutenants and, of course, their leader, Enjolras. Being one of said lieutenants, Combeferre was hurrying towards the Musain, his work for his internship finished for the evening. He was well aware that he was running later than his usual time, and thus had decided to carry along his full medical bag rather than make the detour to his lodgings, which were in the opposite direction from the cafe. As providence would show, this was a fortuitous decision.

As he entered the front room, bidding good evening to Louison, he made a beeline for the long, dark hall to the back room. Then, as an unexpected sight belatedly registered with him, he backtracked to the front room. 

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said with a curious frown, “whatever are you doing out here? You weren’t kicked out, were you?”

“Ah, well, truth be told, I find that the wine out here to be a far superior vintage, and the company more genial and providing more stimulating conversation.”

“Is that so,” Combeferre said, deadpan, noting how the only one at Grantaire’s table was Grantaire himself.

“Indeed. Why, I have carried on a delightful political debate with myself for near fifteen minutes now. ‘Monsieur Grantaire, how do you feel about our current government?’ ‘Why, Monsieur Grantaire, I find it to be a very peach — nay, far sweeter. Let us say a pear — yes, ’tis the noblest of fruits, better than the apple of the Hesperides, desired by all amongst our leading citizens, particularly —“

At this, Combeferre clapped a hand over Grantaire’s mouth. “I believe you have made your point. But why not make it amongst those who are…” he noted the thin scattering of other patrons about “…of similar mind about produce.”

“Are we talking about produce?” Combeferre jumped and turned around to find Bahorel leaning over his shoulder. “Because I hear from my mother that the cabbage harvest in Savoy is surprisingly far ahead of schedule this year. I also hear that someone apparently has a cabbage for a head, to be walking to cafés after yesterday.”

“It’s only around the block,” Grantaire muttered into his drink. 

“And I suppose that it is complete coincidence that you sat down in the first chair you came to and haven’t moved since?”

“I was going to continue on in just a moment. Can’t a man enjoy a glass of wine in peace?”

“I thought you were staying here for the glittering conversation,” Combeferre said. 

Bahorel looked pointedly at the empty chairs around Grantaire’s table, then peeked underneath. “You’re wearing dancing shoes,” he noted. 

“Can’t a man enjoy a glass of wine in peace before a night on the town?” Grantaire asked 

“You’re hardly dressed for it above your ankles,” Bahorel pointed out. “Let me guess, you weren’t able to get any other shoes on.”

“Why would you…” Combeferre trailed off, puzzled.

“If you must know, I managed to injure myself while boxing,” Grantaire said. “My opponent proved impervious to my kicks, and I made the fine discovery that my smallest toes play no small role in walking.”

“His opponent was his stove,” Bahorel said, sotto voce. 

“It was refusing to light,” Grantaire said. “I felt that physical force might provide encouragement, but alas! I wound up with an injury and with a stove that remained unlit.” 

“Might I take a look at it?” Combeferre asked 

Grantaire unlaced his shoe and, wincing, pulled it off, followed by his stocking. His foot was a bruised, mottled shade of blue-purple along his outer toes, and his smallest toe had swollen like an inflated balloon.

Combeferre knelt and gently palpated Grantaire’s foot. “Does this hurt?”

“No, not so much, but — God above!” Grantaire sucked in a breath. “That poor toe of mine is in dire enough shape without you prodding it.”

“Hmmm,” Combeferre said. 

“Is that a good ‘hmmm’ or a bad ‘hmmm’?” Bahorel asked.

“Grantaire, could you try and curl your toes under, if you please?” Combeferre asked.

Grantaire obediently did so. Most of the toes went along with it.  

“All right then. Now, uncurl them, then curl them again,” Combeferre said.

“Your smallest toe appears to be stuck,” Bahorel noted.

“Your smallest toe,” Combeferre said, addressing Grantaire, “appears to be broken, as a matter of fact.”

“Broken?” Grantaire asked. “The damned thing is so small, what could there be inside it to break?”

“Bones, mostly,” Combeferre said, distractedly digging in his bag.

“You’re saying I broke my toe bone?”

“One of the phalanges, yes. They’re rather small, but just as possible to fracture as any other bone.”

“I broke my arm when I was eight,” Bahorel volunteered. “My older sister dared me to jump from the roof.”

“And you did it,” Combeferre said, unsurprised.

“Of course! Hurt like the devil, and I was laid up with a sling for months.”

“Months!” Grantaire exclaimed. 

“It will probably be more on the order of weeks for you,” Combeferre said. “Now, hold still. I’m going to bandage it to the toe next to it, in order that it may heal straight. And it’ll only heal if you keep off of it. Doctor’s orders.” At Grantaire’s disappointed glare at his injured foot, Combeferre added, “However, since you have come so far, you have my full professional approval to continue on into the back room, provided that you are willing to accept some assistance.”

“Gladly,” Grantaire said, boosting himself up and, with an arm slung around Combeferre’s shoulders, slowly limping towards the hallway to the back room.


End file.
